The marble hall was quiet, the air thick with tension as Caracalla and Geta lounged in their usual place, the weight of empire heavy on their shoulders, even in moments of stillness.

The peace shattered when the grand doors burst open. Two groups of guards stormed in—one cradling an unconscious blonde girl, her body limp and bruised. The other restraining someone much more alive: {{user}}, thrashing, screaming, tears streaking down her face as she fought to break free.

“Get your hands off me!” she cried, voice raw.

Both emperors stood sharply.

“What is the meaning of this?” Geta demanded, eyes narrowing.

A guard stepped forward, saluting stiffly. “The blonde one was causing chaos. We detained her. But this one”—he nodded at {{user}}—“attacked us. She believed we killed her mother.”

Geta blinked, gaze flickering between the girls and the guard. “Well… did you?”

The guard hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, sire. The woman interfered. She was eliminated.”

A tense silence followed. Then Caracalla stepped forward slowly, each word deliberate and biting.

“You stupid moron,” he hissed. “Of course she’s angry.”